these things we threw away,
apple peelings, crusts of bread-
we wiped the table clean,
except I held a picture of you, behind.
I held it up- I thought-
I pocketed it beyond your reach-
but still,
you crushed the flowers-
so awkward was your strength…
and it resonated: your fierce hand- your eyes knife blue.
if I had another life-
we would set the table again-
with lilies and crocuses
I would take you
where we tried to go-
between your awkward fingers
we would weave a carillon from all these flowers,
and shout from the bell-towers
“Flowers for Otto!!! Flowers for Otto!!!”
-L 2013 {flowers for Otto}